


Impulse Buys And The Inherent Risks Therein

by ProneToRelapse



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Bottom Hank, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Lingerie, M/M, Top Connor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-08-20 10:20:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16553948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProneToRelapse/pseuds/ProneToRelapse
Summary: Hank should not be allowed to make impulse purchases online. Except he really should because the outcome is great.





	Impulse Buys And The Inherent Risks Therein

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Beardysteve](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beardysteve/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO EVERYBODY’S FAVOURITE MICROWAVE!!!
> 
> Sana, I am so sorry this is late but I love you and I hope you had a great day with all the love you deserve!!
> 
> Best wishes and all the smooches!
> 
> (Thank you redspecs for making the legible asdfghj)

There comes a point in life when you look back at all the paths you’ve taken and all the choices and decisions you’ve made that get you there. For some people it’s a nostalgic trip through time-faded memories, for others it’s an anxious remembrance of where they went wrong. For Hank, he’s barrelled head-first past both of those and straight into _how in the hell and fuck did this become my life?_ Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. On the whole it’s not, but there’s a certain sense of _dear god_ to be felt when he thinks back on all the things that led him here, some good, some bad, some fucking awful, and some blindingly brilliant.

 

Past traumas notwithstanding, Hank feels pretty good about the route he took to get here. Sure there was a hell of a detour in which his career nearly took a fucking nosedive at _least_ three times, along with the tattered remains of his personal life, but apparently being a part of an android revolution sure as fuck helps straighten things out somehow.

 

It seems oddly fitting that an android would be responsible for teaching him how to feel human again.

 

Said android who is currently knocking softly on the bathroom door, voice pitched low with concern.

 

“Hank?” Connor calls through the wood after a precise three knocks and a pause. “Are you alright?”

 

“‘M fine!” Hank definitely doesn’t squawk back.

 

“Are you sure?” He doesn’t blame Connor for not believing him, his voice sounds strangled to his own ears, but at least the kid doesn’t kick the door down to check on him. Especially considering his track record of vaulting through windows.

 

“Yeah— Yeah, I’ll be out in a minute.”

 

Connor seems to finally accept that and Hank listens to his soft retreating footsteps as he heads back into the living room. Hank lets out a heavy breath that isn’t quite relief, but might be distantly related. He takes a moment, carefully avoiding his own reflection for fear of the reminder that he actually has a physical form and isn’t just a concept, and finally, _finally_ tears along the tabbed seam of the unassuming box perched harmlessly on the closed toilet seat.

 

Harmless enough, in its outward appearance, but it’s the contents Hank is suddenly having Many Problems with. Impulse buys are all well and good when you’re scrolling on the internet and it’s all kind of abstract, but when they arrive and you’ve got to face up to what you’ve purchased, that’s when the real problems start.

 

Trying not to whine like a wounded animal, Hank lifts the… _Thing_ out of the box. He doesn’t even know the name for it, hadn’t really been paying attention when he’d added it to his cart. All he’d thought was that it might - emphasis on the _might -_ look nice and with his usual attitude of _fuck it_ , he’d clicked checkout. And now it’s here, in his hands, refusing to be ignored even though Hank is trying desperately to pretend he didn’t actually buy it.

 

(Like there isn’t still a huge part of him that’s actually eager to put it on. God damn, emotions really don’t make any sense. Good fucking luck, Connor.)

 

Hank thumbs distractedly over the satin and lace and swallows hard. It’s kind of pretty. Gun-metal grey with dusky rose lace - Hank’s never described anything as _dusky_ in his life, but here we fuckin’ are - the kind of thing he’d definitely appreciate seeing on one of his sexual partners, but never on himself. Which, moment of truth, is the entire reason he bought it.

 

Fifty-four years old and wearing lingerie for his android boyfriend.

 

 _This_ is where Hank’s decisions in life have brought him. He can’t even be mad about it.

 

He strips almost mechanically, already feeling heat creep into his cheeks despite the chill of the bathroom tiles underfoot and the fact that the stupid radiator in here has never worked properly and Hank can never seem to find time to fix it. He feels hot all over, prickly with some weird mixture of anticipation and anxiety. He kicks his discarded clothes in the vague direction of the laundry basket - something, something, old habits die hard - and slips the diaphanous thing on over his head, wriggling around a little to get it on right.

 

It feels… Honestly like he’s not wearing anything - which is fine, he’s a proud believer in at least one naked lazy day a month and it’s been fun getting Connor in on those too - but there’s a not-unpleasant breeziness that ripples under the satin when he moves. It’s not… It doesn’t look _too_ bad. It’s not tight, so it flows over the swell of his stomach almost flatteringly. It’s a little bit of a sore point that the cups of the thing fill out with what Hank can’t even attempt to call pecs anymore but that’s a little better than just having the cups flap uselessly against his chest. Probably. Maybe. He’s gonna let himself have this one or the whole thing is going straight back in the box and he’s going the fuck to bed.

 

He allows himself a moment before taking out the second garment and he feels the muscles in his jaw tense automatically. He’d apparently selected the right size for the… top half. But these look too small to even try to cover what he’s got going on. Well, maybe that’ll add to the appeal.

 

He steps inelegantly into the fucking napkin masquerading as a pair of panties, throwing a hand out to steady himself against the sink. They fit easily round his hips, and they would normally absolutely be the right size.

 

His dick, however, makes everything a little tighter than is helpful. It takes a good five minutes of rearranging to get the damn thing to lie even remotely comfortable inside the fabric and even then it stretches them out obscenely. He’s not even hard yet.

 

Yet…

 

Because, hah, the natural progression is that he eventually leaves the bathroom and Connor sees him in this. Then, hopefully, they’ll fuck and that’ll be that and Hank won’t have to go through this again. And that’s best case scenario. It’s not like Hank is working on incomplete data here. Connor likes soft things, Connor likes pretty things, and Connor likes - loves - Hank. Evidence suggests this whole get up will be some sort of success. Only issue is Hank’s self-confidence is shot to shit.

 

Honestly though, all that uncertainty can absolutely go fuck itself. Hank is no coward. And he’s definitely not a quitter. So he’s going to pluck up the old Anderson courage and he’s going to walk out there and give his android a damn eyeful if nothing else. He nods once emphatically to sell the story to himself, stopping just short of thumping himself on the chest like an actual idiot, and heads over to the door, fingers curling round the handle but not pushing down.

 

Fuck.

 

No, okay, he can absolutely do this.

 

He can.

 

He absolutely can.

 

…

 

... _Why is he still not moving?_

 

Hank glares down at the handle like it’s personally offended him, but he still can’t muster up the last shred of courage to push down and step out. It makes no sense, it’s not like Connor would reject him harshly. The absolute worst case is that Connor requests he take it off and they continue on like nothing happened. It doesn’t track why that possibility is the last thing stopping Hank from leaving the damn bathroom. He’s been freaking out in here for long enough. Eventually Connor will come back and demand Hank explain his weird behaviour and that will just raise too many questions.

 

_Just fucking do it, you coward._

 

Hank pushes the handle down. And darts across to the bedroom with a speed he thought he’d left behind in his youth.

 

“Hank?”

 

Shit. _Shit shit shit shit._

 

“Hank, what’s going on?” Connor’s voice gets closer as he heads towards the bedroom and Hank is absolutely not hiding behind the door except he totally is and he feels like an idiot for it.

 

“I, uhhh,” Hank offers intelligently. “Okay, you have to promise not to laugh.”

 

“I'm concerned, Hank, I promise you, laughter isn’t really a possibility here.”

 

“Okay, okay. Just… Come into the bedroom.”

 

“I’m in the bedroom. Why are you hiding behind the door?”

 

Oh, fuck it all. “I bought… Something. No fuckin’ clue why, I just… Wanted to… I don’t know!” He laughs humorlessly and steps round from behind the door, face redder than ever. Connor’s expression, when he sees it, is pinched with concern, LED cycling a tight yellow. When he sees Hank, however, Connor’s expression drops, eyes wide and jaw slack, though his LED doesn’t shift.

 

“Oh.” Connor’s eyes flick down then back up and Hank’s entire face is on fire. “You bought this… For me?”

 

“Yeah,” Hank grunts, perfectly selling the seductive vibe. Jesus Christ.

 

Connor steps forward, slowly, like he’s trying to approach a flighty animal that will bolt any second. Hank can’t even fault him for that. He feels twitchy, like he might actually make a run for it, but then Connor’s fingers are trailing softly over the rose lace trim along the edge of one of the cups and the touch is so soft Hank barely feels it but it sends a shiver down his spine all the same.

 

“Hank,” Connor says softly, reverently, and Hank can’t think straight when Connor talks like that. He swallows hard, fighting to stay still under Connor’s rapt attention, lower lip caught between his teeth as Connor brushes those hyper-sensitive fingertips over the satin. “You look beautiful.”

 

Hank has been called many things in his life, not a lot of them pleasant, and beautiful has never been one of them. Not until Connor. And it’s ridiculous how one word can soothe the ache of anxiousness in his chest when it comes from the lips of the man he loves most in the world. Hank feels his tense muscles relax and then Connor is pulling him in for the softest of kisses, gentle pecks against his mouth that have him practically purring.

 

“I love it,” Connor murmurs against his jaw. “And I love that you did this for me.” His palms brush over the satin draping Hank’s waist and he steps closer until they’re chest to chest. He leans in for another kiss that Hank gladly returns, except this one has an edge to it that catches Hank wholly by surprise, one of Connor’s hands reaching up to pull Hank in by the back of his neck, cool tongue licking into Hank’s mouth eagerly. And if the moan Hank gives in response is a little needy, Connor kindly doesn’t comment. He’s a little preoccupied anyway.

 

Hank finds himself being guided back towards the bed, Connor’s quiet strength unyielding as he pushes Hank back and down onto the mattress. He slips easily between Hank’s spread legs, bent over him as he devours Hank’s mouth the same way he does all other things in his life; with focus, determination, and a hell of a lot of inhuman skill. And Hank couldn’t be happier, lightheaded and dizzy, the faint stirring of desire curling slowly through his abdomen.

 

When Connor pulls back, the optics in his eyes are flickering behind the curve of his irises, filaments and circuits pulsing as he, most likely, records everything he sees. And Hank doesn’t mind. It definitely stokes the embers of something he might very well be into but doesn’t really want to address _just_ yet _._ Instead he tilts his head back, a wordless invitation, and Connor is on him with a low purr of static, mouth warm from Hank’s own heat against his skin.

 

Hank grins lazily when a hand slips over his thigh, under the hem of the whatever-it-is he’s got on, up to the curve of his hip. The hand pauses there and Connor lifts his head from Hank’s neck, eyes wide. “Hank…” He shifts back and pushes the satin up higher, revealing the panties that are now pulled even tauter by the half-mast Hank is now sporting.

 

“Go hard or go home,” Hank drawls with a smirk and Connor swallows hard, little pink tongue flicking out to wet his lips.

 

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” Connor murmurs, like the feeling isn’t mutual. And whatever the hell Hank did to cause Connor to barrel into his life, he sure as fuck wishes he knew what it was so he could do it again and make sure he can keep him.

 

Another slow, sinful kiss and Hank somehow manages to get his hands to obey his brain and get them under the hem of Connor’s - _Hank’s -_ hoodie to push it up until Connor takes the hint and leans back to pull it off. While he’s gone he slips out of his sweats too, though those are his own because nothing of Hank’s fits his stupidly slender waist.

 

When Connor leans back over him, the kiss Hank was expecting doesn’t come, but Connor puts the CSI lab he calls a mouth to good use anyway. Over the fabric of the cups framing Hank’s chest, Connor lowers his mouth around a nipple, laving his tongue over it slowly then sucking firmly. Hank swears sharply, arching into the sensation, pushing his hands into Connor’s hair. That prompts a low moan from the android which rumbles through Hank’s body in turn. He screw his eyes shut tightly, shuddering through the pleasure of it.

 

Ever diligent, Connor doesn’t stay in one place long, switching to Hank’s other nipple smoothly, slipping a hand down between Hank’s legs to palm against his now-straining cock, thumb rubbing the silky soft fabric into the slit at the tip. Hank groans so loud his chest vibrates with it, tugging harder at Connor’s soft curls and prompting another soft moan from his lover.

 

Desire prickles across his skin, leaving impatience behind. Hank isn’t one to be overly vocal about what he wants, but Connor can apparently read his wishes from the tells of his body, so when he pulls away, mouth wet with thirium-based saliva, he smiles softly and leans over to fetch the lube from its place on the bedside drawer. Hank distractedly notes they need to buy more.

 

And then Connor, the beast, doesn’t even move to take the panties off, just hooks a finger into them and tugs them to the side with his dry hand, slipping his slick fingers down to Hank’s ass. He looks up, catching Hank’s gaze with a mischievous grin, cheeks flushed a delicate blue, before he slides the first slender digit home.

 

The moan Hank gives is low and breathless, the intrusion small but still enough to send him arching a little off the bed. Connor manipulates his body expertly, curling and pressing in all the right places before one finger becomes two, then three with a kind of efficiency Hank can only dream of. The sweet drag against his insides sends pulse after pulse of heat through his gut, dick twitching with each pass against his prostate. When Hank blinks honest-to-god stars flash behind his lids, breaths coming short and sharp.

 

“Come on, baby,” Hank groans, one hand fisting in the pillow under his head. “Please…” It’s not often Hank will even come close to the idea of begging, but right now, keyed up and ready as he is, he’ll definitely flirt with the concept. It’s enough, because Connor withdraws his fingers quickly but carefully, wriggling his briefs down his hips but not all the way off, and stuffing a pillow under Hank’s hips.

 

“For your back,” he says firmly before Hank can complain. Hank still rolls his eyes for good measure, though he’s hopelessly endeared. But then the mood shifts again and Connor’s dick, hard and flushed a needy blue, curves up against his stomach. and Hank’s mouth actually waters a little bit.

 

Connor shifts and nudges the head against Hank’s hole and he sucks in a sharp breath, eager and impatient. A beat passes before he’s pressing inside and Hank can’t help the sighing moan he lets out as Connor slides home, the breath shuddering out of Hank’s lungs with every inch he takes. The burn is dull and intoxicating, the stretch slowly giving way to heavy pleasure that spreads through Hank’s body to the tips of his fingers. He curls them into the sheets for need of something to do with his hands, but then Connor is prying them loose and twining their hands together as he gives the first testing roll of his hips.

 

It’s all a heady blur after that. Connor slips into a slow, deep rhythm, soft gasps slipping from his lips, internal fans kicking up to cool his overheated systems and whirring quietly like a purr in the background. His thrusts are perfectly measured, steady and sure and the overlapping pleasure that washes over Hank with each push into his body is too much for him to fully catch his breath between them. His legs slip further apart, feet sliding against the bedsheets and he thoughtlessly twines his legs with Connor’s, wordlessly aching to get closer. Connor understands what Hank doesn’t say because he leans down to catch his mouth in a hot, hungry kiss, changing the angle of his hips and hitting deeper, drawing out a near-pained moan from his beloved human.

 

And that’s exactly how Hank feels; loved, desired, _beautiful,_ just like Connor had said and that thought alone is enough to amp up his pleasure until it’s humming along every inch of his skin, hot and cold all at once, deep and shallow, light and heavy. Contradictions everywhere that Hank can’t even attempt to understand, not while Connor is drawing him closer and closer to the edge with each perfect stroke inside him.

 

He comes almost unexpectedly, sooner than he hoped but harder than he thought he would, pleasure burning along his nerves, amplified by the sweet sound of Connor’s own climax, body trembling above Hank’s and head bowed as he fills him. He stays like that for a long moment, LED flickering through all its colours before surging back to blue as he carefully pulls out and lies himself along Hank’s side, nuzzling into his neck.

 

Slowly the flush on Hank’s body fades, and he catches his breath until he’s relaxed and boneless, if a little uncomfortable with the mess on his stomach.

 

“Hope you know how to clean this shit because I sure as fuck don’t,” Hank mumbles, grossly contented. Connor’s faint snort is more amused than anything else, though there’s a definite hint of exasperation in there that tugs Hank’s mouth up into a small smile.

 

“We may just have to get another,” Connor murmurs, toying with a section of lace on the hem. “How do you feel about stockings?”

 

Hank pauses, seriously considering. “Cautiously optimistic.”

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Why Hank in lingerie, you ask? 
> 
> Why not, I answer, while skateboarding away.


End file.
